


starwards

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: Sportsfest 2018 [18]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Magic Realism, Sportsfest 2018, memory hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 15:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15318993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: It is not like any of them to leave memories lying about to be scavenged. It is careless, but then again, Atsumu is careless.‘‘ｓｏ ｃｏｍｅ ｈｏｍｅ’’ said the voice from the stars.





	starwards

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sportsfest 2018 Bonus Round 2: Quotes | [originally posted here](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/8539.html?thread=1143387#cmt1143387)

On the other side of the old train tracks, Kita’s silhouetted in the mouth of an alleyway, staring at the sky.

_No hunt tonight,_ Atsumu had informed Osamu, and sauntered off down the tracks on his own anyway, because Atsumu was like that. He was restless and if they did not let him go he’d kick Osamu in the shins at night with all that pent-up energy. He had disappeared faster than Osamu could see, a bright shadow in the smoky dark.

Osamu makes his way over to Kita.

“Why aren’t we hunting? The air is full of memories. I can smell them,” he asks.

Kita’s jacket, round his shoulders, is more blood-red than crimson this summer night. Suna said its shifting shades reflected the moods of the moon; Oomimi’s theory was that it was laced with all the memories Kita had ever eaten. Osamu had never opened his mouth about it.

Kita glances at him. “Are you hungry?”

Osamu shrugs. He’s always hungry, but that’s not what Kita is asking.

There’s a pause before Kita speaks again. “Remember two nights ago, when we found the orange on the tracks?”

“Yeah.”

Kita reaches into his pocket, pulls out a piece of orange peel and holds it out. “Don’t eat. Just smell it.”

Osamu shoots him a curious look, but Kita’s inscrutable as ever. He leans close for a sniff, and then it hits him; the scent of a home from years ago, the scent of a head buried in his shoulder, the scent of fresh sweat and hunger that’s a sharp blade held against Osamu’s dull ache. All that yearning, all that seeking.

“Atsumu,” he murmurs, recoiling, and Kita nods. He starts to give the orange peel to Osamu, then hesitates, puts it back into his jacket instead. Osamu is grateful, for he does not know what he would do with that particular fragment. It is not like any of them to leave memories lying about to be scavenged. It is careless, but then again, Atsumu is careless.

“You can hunt, if you want. Go after him,” says Kita.

Osamu leans back against the wall next to Kita. He thinks of Atsumu, sees that bright shadow of his again in his mind’s eye, always a few steps ahead of all of them.

“He’s fine on his own. But maybe I should anyway.”

“Stay safe. The stars are bright tonight,” Kita adds. In between the roofs and the telephone wires, the flocks of night birds louder than any traffic, the sky slices slivers through the city.

Osamu leans back against the wall next to Kita and follows his gaze. All he sees is the smoggy haze of street lights, but Kita’s sight is better than all of theirs, even if Osamu has the best nose, and so he turns to look at Kita’s jacket again, heart-red and bleeding true. “Are you afraid to lose him?”

Kita’s silent for a while. Finally, he shakes his head. “If the stars call him home, so be it.”

“I’ll still be here,” says Osamu.

A smile breaks out on Kita’s face at last. “So you will.”

He does not ask if Osamu would miss Atsumu, or if he might follow him, one day, starwards; Osamu does not remind him _we don’t need memories_. Sometimes, they want them instead, and desire is stronger than need. Osamu’s memories are not Atsumu’s. If he ever gave one to Kita and Atsumu to eat, it would be willingly, split down the middle to share, and then they’d understand.


End file.
